The Cycle Out Of Love

Finally your voice is not What narrates every book I read. Finally your name is not The first word that comes to my mind. Finally I can stop relating every line Of lyrics in every song to us. I am walking down the hall And there stands a girl just like you The same brown silky hair Half covering the same soft Brown almond eyes. The same flawless, perfect face And when she speaks, it is The same melodious voice That has echoed in my dreams. Her poem, the same masterpiece That I always reread over and over And always over-interpret. She drags you from near oblivion And throws my relief into it The poisonous antidote of nepenthe. I fall back to the beginning The beginning of the end.

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